


I Guess We're Friends or Whatever

by The_Elephant_in_the_Pride_Parade



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: But this one snuck up on him, Character Study, Enemies to Friends, Episode: s01e16 Tamerlane, Episode: s01e17 Face the Nation, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot Collection, Pre-Episode: s03e05 The French Revolution, References to Canon violence, References to Canon-Typical Violence, Russell doesn't do friends, mild angst in some places
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24138004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Elephant_in_the_Pride_Parade/pseuds/The_Elephant_in_the_Pride_Parade
Summary: A series of one-shots about Russell Jackson and his best friend, Elizabeth McCord. Not that they're friends. He doesn't do friends. It's bad for his image. But Bes McCord is maybe the one exception. Maybe. Russell still isn't sure how the hell this happened.
Relationships: Elizabeth/Henry, Russell Jackson & Elizabeth McCord
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40





	1. The One He Got Wrong

Stevie is the only one Russell's ever told about the one time he got one wrong - and not because she's special - only because he'd bet his oppo flash-drive that she's got enough respect and terror of him that she'll keep her damn mouth shut.

He's spent his whole life in politics, from his first internship with the senate finance committee to his office in the White House, and his first impression of a person, and his assessment of them has never been wrong.

Never that is until Elizabeth McCord.

* * *

When Dalton had floated her in 2016 as his top choice for State, Russell had looked her up - neophyte, independent, academic, _soccer mom_ \- and stamped her in his mind as "not a chance in hell." He'd pressed Dalton to go for Marsh - party loyalist, experience in Congress, extensive travel, and few attachments, heavily favored by both Gordon _and_ Munsey, which was practically unheard of. It was best to facilitate a good working relationship between the spooks, hawks, and fuzzy diplomats right out the gate, as he'd told Conrad, and avoid the infighting and one-up-manship as much as possible. Marsh was the safe bet.

Conrad had accepted it. He'd never quite got on with Secretary Marsh though: he was prone to yes-man-ship in person, while pursuing his own agenda behind closed doors. It became clear pretty quickly that he got on with the folks at DOD because he was a hawk off the campaign trail, especially on Iran, and was shifty enough about his loyalties that Russell had co-opted his whiny speech writer as an informant in less that a month. Still, Marsh was competent and he ran State well. Plus, finding someone who could wear the diplomat hat and the business manager hat was a pain in the ass, so Russell kept his thumb on the oppo file and let the man work. He was confident Marsh could be managed. There was a mistress for sure, and he had a good idea it might be one of Marsh's staffers. Once he had that information, and it was only a matter of time, he'd be more than able to dissuade the man from a presidential primary challenge.

And then, two years into his term, Marsh's plane had gone down - in the damn Bermuda triangle of all places - and they were back to the drawing board. 

"I want Elizabeth," Conrad insisted this time "We need to name someone fast to distract the press from analyzing that crash to death, Iran's about to boil over, and State needs a competent manager before the midterms roll back my House majority. I don't wanna listen to your concerns right now, Russell - Bes is my safe bet this time. Get me my motorcade, and get started pushing her approval through Congress."

Russell had bet on her quitting in 6 weeks. The fact that he couldn't find any decent oppo on her convinced him she just wasn't cut out for Washington. No one that good was gonna be effective in this town. And plus - she kept Marsh's whole staff - stupidity in the extreme!

Yet, those first few weeks, each chance Russell had to intimidate her, she never backed down. Bullying didn't phase her. The realm of the politically possible meant nothing to her. She was turning into the damn Dalton Whisperer for Pete sake. And the husband, Harry or something equally boring, what was his deal? An Ethics Professor? Decorated-Marine-turned-Cuddly-Theologist? Arm Candy? Had she taken his balls or something?

* * *

When she made it more than 6 weeks, Russell had to fork over a good bottle of scotch to Conrad, but he was still convinced she wouldn't cut it - especially after her department botched the Iran negotiations - and managed to start a fight with Canada of all places. After the Iranian delegation stormed out of the talks and her own ambassador (well okay, Marsh's ambassador) said it was a lost cause, Russell had waited up in his office with a stack of Secretary of State potentials under his thumb, fully expecting her resignation.

Instead? she'd called in at 12 am asking to deliver a message to Dalton. Yawning as she relayed the message, she shocked Russell.

"Iran's coming back to the table," she said. "Javani was our guy after all."

Russell choked on his scotch. "You're in New York? Since when… How the fuck did you get a meeting with Javani sanctioned?"

"Not NY, Canada technically - look, I'll brief you in the morning just - just tell the President."

He heard someone in the background. "I've got to go Russell, can you schedule me for a meeting with Conrad before the Daily Briefing? Just text Blake the time."

Russell had to eat his humble pie after that.

Somehow, Bes had won over Marsh's chief of staff, and his policy guy, and the whiny speech writer (who refused to tattle on her, wtf?). Russell was constantly looking for the ulterior motive, the real reason she was so damn infuriatingly obstinate. She was obstructionist to tried and true politics, she had wild ideas (a private army for her embassy, forfuckssake! Though he grudgingly admitted she'd saved them from another Benghazi).

The true bombshell had come when she’d started re-investigating Marsh' death, churning up conspiracy theorists and sensationalist news that distracted from the administration’s actual policies and killed polling numbers. He'd gone to get her to knock it off.

and had the damn rug pulled out from under him.

Marsh... had been assassinated...

And Elizabeth had suspected he and Conrad for _months_ until she had reasonable doubt to trust otherwise.

Russell had gaped at her like a fish out of water as the gravity of it struck him. She'd though he and the goddamn President were murderers! She had sat in briefings alone with them, diligently carried out their policies, worked for their goals, given sound advice...

He couldn't hide his shock. "How did you work with us this whole time and think... I mean, my God."

Bes had given him a wide-eyed, honest look and shrugged, and he'd huffed, understanding and still baffled; she'd done it because of course she had. What other option was there?

Russell had to admit that maybe he’d been wrong about her. She wasn’t a total neophyte… and she was a damned good spy after all.

* * *

He'd warmed up to her after that. She earned more than his respect after the Marsh revelation. Russell had been touched to realize that all along she’d been working for something bigger than Dalton, and she reminded him that he was too. She was still idealistic and still frustratingly arrogant every time she went around ignoring political conventions, but he was starting to see how those were assets instead of liabilities. And sure, too much of his job had now turned into damage controlling the Bes McCord Steam-Roller. But the public liked what she did. And she got results, which got votes. Plus, pushing the political envelope was (dare he admit it) a little bit fun whenever they won the day.

And then Munsey had been revealed as the ringleader of a government conspiracy and Iran was on the verge of a dangerous coup that threatened to destabilize the whole Middle East, and risk nuclear material falling into terrorist hands, and when even Dalton admitted it might be too late to salvage the fall out, Bes McCord had pulled out a Hail Mary idea that had almost given Russell a heart attack.

"I've got to go to Iran."

It was the tensest 48 hours of his life, even tenser than the 2000 election. Bes was flying to Iran, in a German plane, with just four security guys, no back up and no extraction team, and only the word of some smooth-talking Iranian diplomat that she wouldn't be arrested upon landing. Russell spent most of the first day down in the Situation Room, forced to use back-channeling just to get updates on her position before she could safely make contact. According to the Germans, she’d landed safe. The Iranian foreign minister’s men had met her on the tarmac without incident, and they’d rolled away in a government car. The whole room had waited with baited breath and debated how long it would take her to reach the house. They all breathed a sigh of relief when she called in. Javani had her intel, and was sending it ASAP to Shiraz, and she herself would meet the Iranian President in the morning to talk peace and get the nuclear deal back on track. With any luck, they’d also catch Juliet before she knew she’d been made. 

It seemed like they'd barely gotten off the phone with Bes when reports started coming in that armed men were storming Iranian government buildings. Explosions were being reported all over Tehran, casualties were certain but the number was a complete unknown.

Bes’ phone had made a “can not connect'' tone the next time they’d tried to call her. Then her detail had made contact alone - just three of the four men. They had gotten separated from her. An explosion had hit the house. Wherever she was, she now only had Fred for protection. Russell leveled a cold look at Gordon, who'd rejected sending her in with body armor or her own gun because _"She'll be safer if she doesn't look like a threat."_ Bullshit.

When the remaining detail eventually got safely into the house they found Fred, shot through the back, dead, and Javani dead beside him, as well as a broken window, the glass scattered as far as the opposite wall of the destroyed room. There were bloody footprints, bloody drag marks, and a broken heel from Bes' shoe, the blood trail led to the dining room, where the DS agents found three rebel bodies and a clump of bloody blond hair caught in one rebel’s fist.

They couldn’t find Bes. And there was no word on if the Iranian government had been warned of the coup in time, or if anyone was even still in charge.

Henry McCord surprised Russell that night, proving he was a marine after all, when it suited him, and un-intimidated by the Oval office or the President when he'd stormed right in, got in Dalton's face and all but threatened him if Elizabeth died on his watch. Russell would have rolled his eyes at how lovey-dovey they were for each other on any other day. Now Henry's terror just about broke his heart. He thought about Bes' family, and how much they'd sacrificed because he and Dalton had played on Bes patriotism and pure sense of civic duty. The thought that he’d have to tell her family that they’d lost Bes like this left a heavy guilt in the pit of his stomach. It was hard to look at Henry, heart-broken and terrified, and know this wouldn't have happened if they'd given Bes more protection, or not been fooled by Marsh and Munsey for so long.

Russell hadn't gone home at all until word finally came in - from President Shiraz himself.

The coup had failed. The government had been warned in time and taken precautions. They knew it was the Americans who had sounded the alarm and provided intel on the rebel base. And the Secretary was with Shiraz, had been personally escorted by Javani's security forces. She was exhausted, and receiving first aid for several burns and lacerations. She'd need further medical treatment once they could get her to a hospital, but otherwise she was fine. 

Russell had called her detail personally, made arrangements for them to pick her up from the Iranians at a secure location, frustrated that he had to trust Shiraz's men to keep her safe in the meantime, especially as more reports of anti-western violence and gunfire and rioting rolled in.

Frank called in an hour later. "Bluebird is secure," he said, "moving her to the airport. The Germans have a jet waiting. We're gonna need her to get checked out in Berlin. She's pretty banged up."

Russell got the arrangements made, and Conrad and he flew out on Airforce One themselves to meet her.

"Coup failed," she said by way of greeting when she limped up the stairs into the plane, still in the same bloody clothes, hidden under someone else's expensive coat… Actually it might have been Shiraz’s coat; Russell had seen it in plenty of photos. "I don't... they haven't found Juliet." Elizabeth hissed and pressed a hand to her ribs. "Fred’s… dead. Javani’s dead… Shiraz is going to honor the peace deal. You should get the negotiators back to Geneva to-"

"Bes." Conrad stopped her by putting his hands on her shoulders. 

Russell saw her fists clench as Dalton touched her and wondered if she was trying not to flinch. He frowned, unsettled by the range of possible reasons for that reaction, and filed the observation away for later, when he could deal with it. 

"You did good," Conrad was telling Bes, "go get some rest." He steered her to the back of the plane where the small private bedroom, usually meant for the President, resided. "Did you eat at Lundstedt?"

Bes shook her head. "I’m fine," she insisted.

Russell raised his eyebrows at that, and took a seat close to the crew’s kitchen. They liked to gossip there, and he wanted to keep tabs on what rumors might start spreading.

One of the female flight attendents came by with a Primark bag from the airport shops. A few minutes later she returned, stuffing away the wad of bloody clothes Elizabeth had been wearing. Russell snuck a glimpse and felt his stomach turn at the amount of blood covering the blouse. 

Bes didn’t emerge from the cabin until they landed, and she only said a few words to Conrad before Frank and the other remaining DS agents joined a second car to escort her home. 

* * *

The week after Iran, Russell tried to figure out how best to broach the subject. He could read through the lines of her report: she’d survived an explosion and then a shooting that had killed the two other adults in the room with her, suggesting Fred had blocked her from the line of fire at the cost of his own life. Her DS agents said 3 rebel bodies had been found just outside the room, but Elizabeth had left them out of her report, saying only that Javanis security had escorted her to a bunker. No report mentioned how the drag marks had gotten on the carpet or how her hair had wound up in one rebel's hand, but Russell could guess. 

DS had said the violence had still been ongoing when they had evacuated: public lynchings, beatings, rape, and looting going on in the streets as state forces brought rebels to heel, which meant Bes had seen all that too and hadn't mentioned it.

He, his staff, and Conrad all wanted her to tell the story of how they'd averted the coup to the nation herself. She could use her charm and integrity to bring the public to the side of the administration, put fears to rest, explain the conspiracy. She agreed when he first suggested it offhandedly. It had been two days after she got home and she’d showed up bright and early ready to prove she was back in action. Russell had accepted her “I’m fine” at face value and told her to be ready for _Face the Nation_ on Friday. 

But over the course of her first week back, Russell grew more and more concerned... and came up with the persistent problem of just... how to say so. 

When he heard she'd caused a diplomatic incident with China and then been rushed to the hospital, he'd known immediately she wasn't having a damn heart attack. For once he'd trusted her staff to handle the pissed off Chinese foreign minister without interference, and he’d raced straight to the hospital.

Russell had only meant to see if she was alright. He’d brought flowers to prove it. But he’d still fallen back on the party line, the concerns of the administration. Her husband had firmly turned him away and he had found himself frustrated - he wasn't gonna yell at her, for god's sake! He was a hard-ass, not a monster.

Russell hadn’t been able to stand being sidelined and his concern had prompted him to follow Henry to Bes’ hospital room, and listen at the door.

" _It's okay_." Henry was speaking softly, like Bes was fragile or something. "Marine guys get this, you know - are you a marine?"

A bizarrely quiet, tremulous voice had answered: "Maybe… a really runty one." 

Russell had felt a pit form in his stomach as he heard her speak - that did not sound like Bes McCord. He dared a peek into the room, struggling to connect the huddled, pale waif in the hospital gown with the larger than life force of nature that seemed to make it her mission to make his life difficult. The word _broken_ floated through his mind, and Russell quashed it. Her husband was right. Marine guys got this. And as far as Russell was concerned, she was braver than a marine. She'd gone into a potential conflict zone unarmed, without a vest or an armored car, to save her country, hell the world, from chaos and war. Well okay… maybe she was just stupider than a marine. But the fact was, she’d served her country and put herself in the line of fire. She was entitled to come back a little screwed up, right? But she was Bes. She'd get over it.

Then, through the door, Russell had heard her insist that she was alright to go back to work. He'd shaken his head. How could she possibly think she had to do that? Did she really feel like she had that much to prove?

He ran the thought over and over in his mind all the way back to the White House. It was true, Bes’ work was vital, so of course she wouldn't want to let Conrad down by being out of the office. And Conrad was still under the impression she was shaken up, but otherwise fine - a tough nut to crack, he'd said to Russell - unflappable.

Or maybe she paid more attention to the media and the gossip mongering than Russell had thought. They were like vultures - all circling Foggy Bottom waiting to catch a whiff of instability, proof that the academic couldn't cut it with the political elite, proof a woman dividing her time between the nation and three teenagers couldn't manage both. Was that shit what was driving Bes to go back to work before she'd recovered?

Russell knew better than most that everyone had their shit that hurt them. Bes was no more invincible than him. And it proved true: by the time Russell had gotten back to the White House, pictures had already surfaced of the Secretary’s husband leading her out of the State Department barely a half hour after she’d returned to the office.

Russell stared at the pictures, taking in Bes’ down-turned face and the way she clung to Henry’s arm. Russell had known she wasn't ready to be back. He'd finally gotten something right when it came to Elizabeth McCord, and he'd never been less happy about it.

Maybe what she needed wasn’t her husband mollycoddling her. Maybe she needed someone to be straight with her. Russell sat up in the office until late thinking that over. His disturbingly strong urge to help her aside (like he cared or something) did it really have to be him? Henry had seen combat. Wasn’t he more than capable of helping her cope?

Russell went as far as pulling up Henry’s file: he's seen combat alright - from 30,000 feet up. And while he’d done brief stints in the NSA, he’d never gone anywhere more dangerous than a religious symposium.

As Russell read and reread, trying to convince himself Henry's help could be enough, he saw an email from Nadine. The Secretary had insisted on keeping her _Face the Nation_ appearance, she said. Apparently Nadine had reached out to the show and insisted on all questions being vetted in advance, and a full day being set aside to film, with as many breaks as needed. She ended the email by asking Russell if they could get a medic included in the DS team on that day… just in case.

Russell stared at the email and swore at the world. His disturbing earnestness to help won out over his desire to maintain his reputation. Before he had time to second guess himself, he was at the McCords’ door, putting on his best (still not great) nice-guy face, and all but begging Henry to stand down and let him speak with her.

For whatever reason, Henry let him in. And Russell saw her in the kitchen immediately, hunched over the counter in a thick robe and slippers, her hair loose and her face troubled. He’d taken a deep breath and strode up to her.

And, for the first time in 15 years, he told someone else his baggage. She wouldn't find her way through this without someone else saying they’d been there, promising her it was okay to take time, that they respected her no less. He gave her Sherman’s card, feeling a little panicked at giving away - to anyone, let alone a colleague - that he was on a first name basis with a shrink.

Russell called Dr. Sherman the next day himself to talk. "Why did I open up to her at all!?" He sighed, exasperated with himself. "I mean her damn husband, he gets it! He’s there to be all vulnerable and mushy with her. Why did I have to go... sharing my shit... Why does she get to know my shit?”

"Isn’t that what we do for our friends, Russell?"

He had gaped at Sherman, he didn’t know how to respond to _that_.

Russell video called Bes that night just to chat. She looked much better. She'd seen Sherman that afternoon. 

"Thank you, Russell," she told him. "I... I know it was hard to share that... but it helped."

"Ahh... good. Look about _Face the Nation_."

"Give me two days... I will be ready." She rubbed her eyes. "Look would you... would you help me with the interview prep. I know that’s my staff’s job, but I just-"

"Sure," he said, "where and when?"

"Well... Henry and the kids and I are at the farmhouse... but I can come in tomorrow and-"

"No. No. God, don’t worry about it. I’ll come to you" he checked his crazy schedule and grimaced. Well this was gonna fuck everything up, but oh well. He refused to examine why it was he felt so compelled to help. "How’s ahh… 1 PM tomorrow?"

"That's... good... Russell, thank you."

"Yah. Don't mention it. Seriously, don't mention it... look, Bes: get some rest, would you? You’ve been through hell." Russell ended the call, rubbed his face, and groaned.

When the fuck had he and Bes McCord become friends?


	2. Par Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-3x05 The French Revolution: Russell finds out Bes gave her security detail the slip and goes to find out why. Some more exploration of their friendship. Mostly humor and fluff with some angst thrown in on hole 12 of 18.

Russell slammed the car door and scowled as he surveyed the mini golf course. Too many people. Tons of access from the buildings across the street and the trees lining the property _and_ worst, toddlers running around off the leash complicating any kind of extraction.

He was going to _kill_ McCord. 

He was only somewhat relieved when he couldn't pick her immediately out of the crowd. But once he spotted her, in a long white coat with a scarf covering her hair and dark glasses over half her face, he was back to being ticked off. He stormed up to where she was standing by the fence. “What the hell are you doing-” 

“Shhhhh!” Bes whipped around, grabbing him and hustling him towards the cashier’s booth. “How the hell did you find me?” 

He raised his eyebrows. “How about: how the hell did you give your security detail the slip?!” 

“Is it a crime to want some time to myself?” she countered. “How did you track me?” 

“I bullied Shaw into looking up your phone - hey,” he looked around, “why are you _spying on a mini golf course_?” 

Her face turned red. “It’s not spying!” she said. “I was just out driving and… I swear I was not spying, but then I saw him with them and well, you know, I’ve never met them before, so...” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

Bes sighed and leaned around the side of the booth, then pointed. 

He frowned. “What am I looking at?” 

“Stop staring, he’ll see you!” 

“Who!?” he cried, exasperated. Then he saw them on the fourth hole of the course. “You’re spying on your son.” 

“Not spying… accidentally saw and… and followed. I mean look, he’s with two girls. Two _older_ girls. I mean I just… I had concerns.” 

“Why?” Russell exclaimed. He groaned. “No, you know what, I don’t care. Look: we need to talk about the French State Dinner.”

“ _Now_?” Bes shook her head. “Really, Russell? It is three weeks away. Don’t you have anything else to do with the evening?” 

“Well I just want to be sure your department isn’t going to have anymore email-gate faux pas.” 

She shook her head and Russell followed her sight line back to Jason. “You know as soon as they walk around that wind mill, he’s going to see you.”

“ _Shit,_ ” she muttered and she looked around. “Here. Come on!” 

He raised his eyebrows as she walked around to the cashier, stuffing twenty dollars at him and taking two garishly bright golf balls out of the bin. 

“Bes,” he warned as she grabbed two clubs off the wall. “I’m _not_ playing _mini-golf_.”

“Yes, you are - oh!” she went back to the cashier. “Can I have one of those hats?” 

She swapped ten bucks for a baseball cap with _Wonderland - Fun for the Whole Family_ emblazoned around a creepy looking cartoon cat and thrust it at him. “Here, put this on.” 

“No!” he cried, none-the-less following her onto the course. They _still_ needed to talk about musicians that would go over well with the French delegation _and_ the fact that she’d ditched her security. 

“You want to talk about the dinner, fine. You putt first,” she said, one eye on Jason and the two girls who now had their backs to them. “And put on the hat; Jason knows what you look like.” 

“Oh yes, totally not spying,” he huffed, and caved to her raised eyebrows and the stubborn expression. He glared at her as he jerked the hat out of her hand. He stuffed it in his back pocket, then took the green club and golf ball and set up on the starting line. “What’s par?” 

“Par? Russell its _mini-golf_?” 

“Yah, well if you're going to make me stalk your kid, hold this stupid hat, and, and… totally humiliate myself if any nosy Republican staffers come by, by the way, then I at least want to know if I’m winning. Don’t they have a - a score card or something?”

Bes sighed and looked around, spotting a box of green cards and pencils right behind them. She took one of each. “I guess there is a par: this hole is four.”

He snorted. “For whom? A one armed blind man - _what_ ! I’m already debasing myself. Any quotes they get for their… their social medias are just icing on the cake at this point.” He took the first swing and then angled a second off the barrier of the green. The ball hit off the barrier and rolled into the hole with a satisfying _plop._ “Ha, an eagle! How's this: if you beat that, I’ll wear the stupid hat,” he boasted. 

Bes turned away from where she was spying on Jason and his girlfriends and lowered her sunglasses enough to show him the challenging look in her eyes. She set her blue ball down on the green and sent it sailing, around the bend in the course, hitting off two rocks to dodge a sand trap, and spinning _right_ into the hole.

Russell swore and whipped the hat out of his back pocket. He jerked it down over his eyes and waved her towards the second hole. “Lucky shot,” he challenged. “Now, your protocol office sent me a list of french musicians we can get to play, but the President wants an American one too.”

“It’s a dinner celebrating _French_ culture?” 

“ _In America_ ,” he countered as she tee-d up her shot.

They bickered back and forth for the next eighteen holes, occasionally stopping to stay out of Jason’s sight line. By the tenth hole he’d lost focus on work because this game was actually _really_ hard, and Elizabeth and he were tied. He thought he’d at least get ahead when she lost concentration on hole eight (Jason had turned around unexpectedly) and lost her ball in the fake river, but then on the next hole, his clear shot had been disrupted by a falling acorn, and she refused to let him re-do it. 

“How is _this_ par two when the first one was par _four_ ?” He exclaimed as they stepped onto the cheesy looking shipwreck to see their course led across a _very_ narrow gangplank and a green that was actually rocking in the water.

Bes looked similarly stressed. “Did you see the kid ahead of us? She got a hole-in-one? We can’t be worse at this than a five-year-old.”

He attempted a shot anyways. It got across the gangplank and then rolled right into the only corner without a clear path to the hole. He cursed. “These things ought to have regulations,” he grumbled. 

Bes laughed heartily. “ _Really,_ Russell?” she was still laughing as she lined up for her own shot.

Russell leaned on his club watching. “So… how did you give your security detail the slip?” he asked.

“Henry helped,”

He was stunned. “ _Henry_!” 

She shrugged, following her ball as it rolled across the rocking green and settled just shy of the hole. “Ex-CIA, current DIA…” She tapped her ball in. “We can be sneaky when we want to.”

He was flabbergasted. “Henry enabled this… reckless...whatever you're doing, just so you could spy on Jason, nah I don’t buy that.” If anything, Henry was his staunchest ally when it came to convincing Bes to have as much security on her as possible. 

“I told you: I wasn't _spying_ ,” she said as he took his chances at a bogey. “I really did just see him getting into a convertible with those… girls. And I was already out, and I just wanted to make sure nothing happened. And that they wore seat-belts, and,” she sighed. “Alright, and now I’m spying… come on, hurry up they're on hole seventeen.”

Russell furrowed his brow, following her down the path to the next hole as she adjusted her sunglasses to completely hide her eyes. “So… why did Henry help you dodge your detail?” he asked.

Bes sighed. "I just wanted some time to myself..." She worried her lip and, after a long pause, confessed: “It’s been 30 years,” she stared out at the fake pond the shipwreck was rocking in. “I just… you know It just hit me that... I’m now older than my mother was when she died.” 

“Ahh…” Russell fiddled with his golf club.

“Which… I mean you’d think this day comes every year, and... and her birthday passed like 2 months ago; it shouldn’t be such a big deal.”

“It never stops being a big deal,” Russell moved to the green to try to push back thoughts of his own brother’s crash. “Turning 21 was awful,” he told her as he took his shot. “First because the only thing anyone wanted to do was drag me around to bars drowning me in cheap booze… but also because it was the first big milestone I was gonna reach that he didn't.” He didn’t look at her. “I ended up driving back to my dorm drunk that night,” he said. “Stupid, but I was so…” he laughed humorlessly. “Angry at the universe. Couldn’t figure out why I got to walk away from that wreck and he didn't… Guess I wished I hadn’t.” He cursed as his ball went into the sand trap. “Still hate milestone birthdays.”

When he looked back at Bes, she had removed the sunglasses and trained her blue eyes on him. Her gaze was warm and understanding as she gave him a sad smile. “Henry and I got married in a courthouse… we could have scrapped together enough for the big church wedding, I know he wanted one. I just… couldn’t bear to walk down an aisle by myself… especially with his whole family watching. I even felt guilty for getting married, when they couldn’t be there to see.” 

Russell sniffed and cursed, tilting the brim of the cap down so no one would see him scrub his eyes. “See this is why we don’t talk about this,” he grumbled and heard her chuckle as she dabbed her eyes. “Alright, just this once I will overlook the security breach, but,” he wagged his finger. “Next time I’ll... I’ll…”

“Tell on me to Conrad?” she chuckled.

“No. I’ll tell Stevie, let her guilt trip you,” he said back. And he clapped her on the shoulder. “So…” he looked around for a distraction and settled on Jason McCord and his girlfriends over at the 18th hole where the taller blond was lining up her final shot. “You know that one looks like the Majority Leader’s daughter,”

Bes groaned. “The guy I said didn’t know his head from his ass when it came to foreign affairs?”

“The very same…”

By the time they finished the 18th hole, Bes was still ahead by 2, and Jason and his girlfriends had moved to the ice cream shop across the street. 

“Try this new duo from New Orleans,” Bes said, sending Russell a link to a YouTube video as he put their golf supplies away and shoved the hat back to the flustered cashier. “The French musicians are going to be playing mostly 1800s era stuff, but I have it on good authority the French President enjoys emerging musical styles even more.”

“Great - then tell that to your protocol office so they stop sending my staff emails.” Russell scanned the crowded parking lot and waved at the large, black SUV rolling towards them.

Elizabeth saw it and scowled. “ _Snitch!”_ she accused him. 

“Save it, Bes. There’s a reason your security gets 24/7 hazard pay. You’re too important, just deal with it.” He pat her shoulder. “Next time you want to be inconspicuous, we can get some plain clothes agents to follow you.”

She sighed. “What about Henry’s car?”

“Matt can take it,” he said cheerily, leaning on the fence as he watched the SUV park in front of them. 

Matt and Frank stepped out wearing frowns to rival Bes’. “Madam Secretary,” they greeted her.

“Let me guess, I’m grounded,” she joked as she let them usher her into the back seat. “Hey Russell,” she said, holding her hand out to keep the door open.

“What?” 

She gave him the sad smile again. “Thanks for tonight.”

He suddenly wished he’d kept the stupid hat so he could hide his face. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yah, well - uh - don’t get too cocky. You had a lucky shot. Next time I’m gonna kick your ass.”

She grinned. “So you admit it… you had _fun_.” 

She then shut the car door and directed Frank to get on the road, leaving Russell standing with Matt next to Henry’s car, unsure how it was Bes had managed to beat him _again_.

“She’s gonna make _me_ need 24/7 hazard pay,” he grumbled as he fished for his keys. He looked up as he heard Matt snort. “You heard nothing, got it.”

“Yes, Sir.” he said, smirking as he ducked into Henry’s car.

That left Russell shuffling towards his own car shaking his head.

His phone buzzed and he looked down to see a text from Bes: _Next time no spying. Double date. Bring Carol._

“Next time,” he huffed. “Like I want there to be a next time.” He shook his head. “That ship should not have been _par two_.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I binge watched this entire fucking show in a week and I need more MSec fanfiction. So here you go. Enjoy.


End file.
